The Games
by xx-Twisted Fantasy-xx
Summary: Re-write. One deadly game. Two broken people. Dangerous stakes. Death. Bonnie and Damon are forced to enter the Hunger Games as tributes. Will they fall in love or die trying to survive? Based off of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.
1. Preface: Their Losses

**Disclaimer: I do not have the copyright for any of this material.**

**Okay, I was recently re-reading my writing for this story and decided that I could have written it better, granted, it was my first story and I still liked how some of it turned out, but I wanted to fix a few problems. So this re-write will hopefully have more action and romance and angst and less spelling and grammar mistakes.**

**I'm even putting a prologue in here!**

**Oh, and the concept belongs solely to Danielle Salvatore!**

**Okay, time for me to write the standard read & review plea.**

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><p>"<em>. . . as they die, the ones we love, we lose our witnesses, our watchers, those who know and understand the tiny little meaningless patterns, those words drawn in water with a stick. And there is nothing left but the endless flow."<em>

_~Anne Rice~_

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><p><strong>Part l<strong>

**Bonnie Bennett: Shattered Innocence**

* * *

><p>The sky was blue.<p>

That was the first thing I noticed when Elena and I exited the school building, it was one of those rare sunny days in District 12. Usually, the entire district was cloaked in a blanket of overcast clouds, though it hardly ever rained. Of course, coal dust still dusted the streets and the faces of those who worked in the coal mines—like my father, but that was easy to ignore. Unimportant.

The second thing I noticed was the pit of dread growing in my stomach.

Good weather always made me feel good, like I had nothing to worry about. I could easily forget to look at the people starving in the streets, I could ignore the dead ones, too; I didn't have any trouble pushing memories of Damon Salvatore to the back of my head, either. Today was a different story, though. His actions replayed over and over again in my mind. This morning, he had called me a stupid-head and tried to make me finish his 'Products Of District 10' homework for him. We weren't even in the same class! The moron must have forgotten that he was an entire year older than me.

That wasn't the problem, though.

It was something else and I had absolutely no idea what it was.

"Are we going to your house today, Bon?" Elena asked.

Elena was my very best friend in the entire country of Panem. She was the polar opposite of me, too. She actually liked it when Damon pulled her ponytail or when Stefan—the moron's younger and nicer brother—called her pretty. The Salvatore Brothers had major crushes on her, they were always fighting over who would get to give her the dandelions they found by the fence that morning.

I didn't even mind that I never got anything, not even a rock they spotted by the Coal Mines.

It sort of bugged me at first. I mean, Elena always got whatever she asked for. When she wanted to look at the animals passing by the fence, her mother took her to the fence. When she wanted to play the game she made up, we played it. (It involved her finding out she was President Snow's long-lost daughter.) Personally, I thought he was a creep, but I liked his house just as much as she did. According to Dad, it was called a mansion.

I met her five years ago, when I had just turned five. She was looking for one of those hard-to-find pink flowers and I found one for her.

We were BFF's ever since.

"Sure!" I said, pretending to be as happy as she was.

I lived in the Seam, the coal mining section of 12, just a few houses away from Damon and Stefan. The other section of 12 was where the people who owned stores lived, like Elena's Aunt Jenna. Elena lived on the edge of the Seam, farther away from the Salvatore's, with her little brother and parents.

When we got there Daddy looked very sad, but he was definitely trying to hide it.

"Dad, what's wrong?" I figured if I asked him, he'd give me a silly answer because only stupid kinds of bad things happened on good days.

"Bonnie honey, I have some bad news. . ." there were tears in his eyes, my father was crying. He _never_ cried!

He opened his moth to go on, but I interrupted him. "It's Mom, isn't it? Has it gotten worse?"

He nodded wordlessly.

I ran into their bedroom, the pit of dread exploded the moment I set my eyes on her. She was lying in bed, just like always, but somehow it was different this time. She looked limp and lifeless. Shadows from the lamp that didn't need to be on danced across her face.

"Mom!" I shrieked, running to her side. "_Mommy, No! Nononononono!_"

I didn't get a response, she didn't open her eyes and she didn't tell me it would be okay.

I dropped to my knees and cried.

* * *

><p><strong>Part ll<strong>

**Damon Salvatore: Already Broken**

* * *

><p>I knew it would be stupid to ask—especially because Dad and I hated each others guts—but I had to know.<p>

"Do you know why the Bennett girl wasn't in school today, Sir?"

"_You_ don't?" he asked in a tone that implied my brainlessness.

"Her mother died, boy." He glared at me. "Now shut up and do your homework, I don't want to hear that you've failed another test!"

I was right about the asking-thing.

**ѮѼѮ**

It reminded me of when my mother died, she was the only one who cared about me. Dad was too busy being an asshole to care about anyone but his precious Steffy.

The sad thing was, I only remembered that I didn't get to say goodbye.

* * *

><p><strong>Part lll<strong>

**Damon Salvatore: Tesserae**

* * *

><p>I don't want to do this. I shouldn't have to do this. Stefan should do this. Anyone but me should do this.<p>

I liked the idea of Stefan doing this best, so long as it lessened my chances of entering the Hunger Games.

We learned about tesserae last year—one year before we were eligible to sign up for it—in exchange for selling your soul, you get extra oil and grain. Great trade-off, right? Starving people and my dumb ass father thought so, too bad he was about a hundred years too old to sign up for it.

"Sign your name here, Damon." The Justice Building lady said, handing me a slip of paper and a pen.

_Damon Salvatore: fuck you!_

I folded the paper up and she didn't even bother to look at it.

**ѮѼѮ**

Green eyes watched me as I left the building.


	2. The Reaping

**Disclaimer: I do not own the TVD/quote copyright.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, made this story a favorite, or alerted it.**

**To clarify, Bonnie was 10 and 11 when Damon went to get his tesserae in the last chapter (the prologue) and Damon is 11 and then 12. This chapter is a fast-forward and Bonnie is 17, Damon is 18.**

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><p><em>When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.<em>

_~Edmund Burke~_

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><p>(6 years later. . .)<p>

**ѮѼѮ**

* * *

><p><strong>Part l<strong>

**Before The End**

**Bonnie Bennett**

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><p>Today is the beginning of an endless siege of horror.<p>

Today is March 25th.

Reaping Day.

I sigh and pull myself into a sitting position, an action that causes a spasm of pain to run up the back of my neck. Great. On top of the pre-ordained hell I have to go through today, my entire body feels stiff. Damn bed! It's clearly not suitable for sleeping and it's not as if I actually got anywhere near Dreamland last night, the anticipation was simply to much for me to bear. During the hours leading up to the moment where everyone has to meet in the town square, it feels like I'm waiting for a black-hooded man to release the guillotine that's been hanging over my head.

Once Upon A Time, I thought that the worst thing imaginable was Damon's jackass attitude, next came my mother's death, then I had turned eleven and my father got hurt in an explosion while working in the Mines. They were all reasonable bad things, and they all rallied for the number one spot on my Bad Life Moments scale, but then the starvation set in.

At eleven, I had been too young to sign up for tesserae—I was only a year off, the legal age for both the tesserae and the reaping is twelve—and I vividly recall staring angrily at Damon as he left the Justice Building with his very first grain ration.

He didn't need it, not in the way I did, his father had a steady job as Supervisor in the Coal Mines and Dad could barely walk—he still couldn't earn income six long years later.

The Hunger Games seem far worse than starvation, and yet, it still doesn't seem to register with me. I mean, the Games only occur once a year and the threat of turning into a skin and bones girl is constant. And I have my father to worry about, I have to keep his medicine on hand and I can't worry about eating. Dad must always come first.

He hates that, more rations mean a bigger chance of a televised death.

My death.

"Bonnie," he calls out weakly. "Could you get my medicine?"

"Sure!" I say warily, because he is all I have left.

I make my way downstairs, looking out at the bleak expanse of gray sky. It even looks like Hell, who would have thought?

My father's pills are locked in a single cabinet where he can't get anywhere near them. I haven't let him touch them since May 5th of 2030. It was the one year anniversary of Mommy's death, a week since he almost got his leg cut off. I had let him keep the bottle at his bedside—I know, I was a dumb ass—and he was so depressed, it sickens me to even have to think about it, and. . .

"How bad does it hurt?" I ask, waiting for his standard response.

He thinks it over for a second or two or three or too damn long for me to stand it. "Nine." he says with finality.

Yup, it is just as I expected.

He always claimed he was in more pain during Reaping Week, on a normal day, he might say 'five' or even 'four'. Reaping Week was an endless moan of 'nine', 'ten', or 'eleven', even. Our scale only reached ten, but my dad is a drama queen.

I take the pills from the cabinet, open the jar, and hand him a single capsule.

"Sorry, Mrs. Everdeen only has so much on stock and we are almost out of grain."

"Oh, okay." he is upset.

"I'll sign up for more tesserae next year, I'll buy more tablets instead—promise." I look at him bitterly.

He has mocha-colored skin riddled with lines of sorrow and deep brown eyes that conjure up endless amounts of pity. His leg is always wrapped in expensive bandages (they cost me twelve dollars) that are puss-soaked.

"No!" He chokes out before I can offer to change the gauze—though I don't think we have any left. "Damn it, Bonnie! Don't _say_ that!"

I'm taken aback, he never blows up like this. _Just like he never cried_. . . . "O-okay."

"Do you think I _like_ seeing you go to the Justice Building? Do you think I _like_ seeing you come home with lousy rations instead of something you could use? Do you think I _like_ knowing that you are signing your death warrant?"

I can't answer him.

_Nonononono, _the ten-year-old Bonnie yells in my head.

"Take you medicine, Dad." I instruct, going to the sink to get him a glass of water.

I feel empty, like he has just destroyed my reason for existence, like he has ripped my free will right out of my body.

I grab the cup nearest to me and fill it with water. The faucet makes weird sounds that probably mean that it is breaking.

_Great! _Yet another thing I can't afford to fix, just what I needed!

He yanks the water from my hand, I scowl and he just shoves the tiny blue-and-white capsule into his mouth.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, then he looks at me with tired eyes. "Time to get ready for the reaping." He says it like someone might say: _lets go get ready to have our heads ripped off._

Which is exactly what we are doing.

I'm screaming inside.

**ѮѼѮ**

I stare at myself in the mirror.

My father often says—on days that he has taken too many pills—that I am my mother. He smiles like a goon and calls me by her name. _Lelia. . ._

I _do_ resemble her, I guess.

I have her eyes, they're green. Although, I never saw the darkness I see in my eyes in hers. She was always so happy, her entire face shone like the sun I rarely catch a glimpse of nowadays. I've since come to the conclusion that the woman wore rose-colored glasses all the time. Why else would she always smile?

I frown, taking the white dress my dad got out of the closet and pulling it over my head. The fabric is soft against my skin, unlike the heavy material of my shirt.

I blink.

Maybe Dad is more right than I thought. I look exactly like the worn picture he keeps under his pillow (the one he believes I don't know about) and I try to smile, because she still has that light I can never seem to copy.

It doesn't work.

Sighing, I put a white headband in my hair and make my way down the steps.

I don't even spare a glance at my reflection.

* * *

><p><strong>Part ll<strong>

**Getting Closer**

**Damon Salvatore**

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?"<p>

I don't turn to look at my brother, I already know that his arms are crossed and that his broody forehead just gained another line.

"Nothing." I mumble, watching as my father left the house. He told me that he was going to Mellark's Bakery to go purchase a loaf of overly-expensive raisin bread, but I know that he is really headed to the Hob, District 12's black market. He enjoys feeding his children Greasy Sae's cat ass soup and calling it clam chowder—one of District 4's main exports, I think.

"Damon." Steffy says in his 'I'm Gonna Tell Elena' voice. It's clearly a threat-less warning.

"Okay, okay, you caught me. I'm really an undercover spy for the Capitol here to harvest your tiny brain for experimentation."

Stefan sighs, "Damon, really. What. Are. You._ Doing_?"

I see dad's head disappear as he turns the corner—moving in the opposite direction of the bakery. Go figure.

"Follow me," I tell him, shooting him an annoyed look.

He proceeds to tell me what I should be doing—getting ready to watch two poor losers go to their deaths—but does as I say anyway.

I enter my father's bedroom.

The bastard has the biggest room out of the entire house. While Stefan and I have to share a room, he has this one all to himself. Giuseppe Salvatore also forbade his teenage sons from going in it. I speculate that he probably has a hidden stash of Morphling in here, but that's hardly what I am after. Morphling addicts are often desperate and horrid-looking in appearance, I would never want to give up my good looks for some stupid hallucinations.

I automatically go over to his bed and lift the edge of the mattress up. Underneath, a small metal key glints in the darkness.

"Ah ha!" I reach under the rickety excuse for a bed, and take it.

"Damon." Stefan says. He has five different ways of saying my name. Earlier, he used way numero uno—the 'My Brother Is On Serious Drugs' way. The way he put into action now was the one I dubbed 'Damon's Just Breaking The Rules Because He Is Clearly Starved For Dad's Love And I'm An Attention-Whore' way. The other three consist of: the 'I Don't Want To Know' way, the 'I'm Going To Have To Bail Damon Out Of Jail' way, and, the most commonly used one: the 'Damon! That's Not Nice, You're Hurting 'insert fucker's name here''way.

I ignore him.

"Are you serious—"

I roll my eyes. "Go keep watch!"

"For _what_?"

"Who do you think, Dumb ass?"

Stefan furrows his eyebrows. "Damon, I'm not going to look for Dad while you attempt to do whatever it is you're going to do. It's wrong."

"Thank you Captain Obvious!"

Despite the fact that Stefan makes no move to do what I said, I go over to the cabinet on the far side of the room. It's a beat-up safe-type thing, a large lock sits in the middle of it, preventing me from opening it with ease.

I open the lock, look inside the safe, and pull a small flask of liquid out of it.

"Damon!" Stefan says, combining ways one and four. "The legal drinking age is twenty one!"

"Tell that to someone who cares." I say, taking a sip of beer.

I hear the door open and close, then.

Shit!

I throw the glass bottle into the safe and slam it shut. I hear the sound of something shattering—the flask, otherwise known as the metaphor for the end of my life—and I cringe.

"Crap! Stefan go stall!"

"No, are you insane? This is—" he is cut of by a feminine voice.

"Stefan?"

His entire face lights up, and that (plus the voice) can only mean one thing:

Elena Gilbert is here.

**ѮѼѮ**

Elena has always had a thing for Stefan, despite my being the hotter brother.

When I was fourteen, I had asked her if she wanted to hang out by the fence, I even offered to pick wild flowers for her. I never offered to do anything for anyone up until that point! Of course, she turned me down in favor of my younger brother, because the sun shines out of his ass.

They have being "in love" ever since.

I throw up a little every time I think about it.

We both go downstairs to greet her, and—because my life is shit—they start making out in front of me. And, to top it off, they exchange those three words that make me want to gauge my fucking eyes out.

"I love you!" she exclaims, smiling.

"I love you, too." he replies.

I hate the both of them.

* * *

><p><strong>Part lll<strong>

**The Female Tribute**

**Bonnie Bennett: Volunteered**

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><p>The Town Square is packed by the time I get there.<p>

It is roped off in clearly labeled sections, each big enough to hold a pen full of bull imported from District 10. We are sorted into age groups during each reaping. The twelve year old kids stand in the area closest to the stage, the thirteen year old kids stand on the other side, by Jenna's shop, the fourteens are put by the bakery, the fifteens are in the pen farthest from the stage, the sixteens are just to the left of them, I will have to stand in the pen directly next to the execution weapons (which are hardly ever used due to the lax judgment by Mayor Undersee and the Peacekeepers) and the eighteens are to the right of the seventeen pen.

We don't have any space to move.

I told Elena to meet me by the Mellark Family Bakery right after she picks up her indulgent boyfriend. I'm glad she has Stefan Salvatore, even if that means having to deal with his bitch of a brother.

I can hear them from down the street, Damon is making some comment about me being a whore, Elena hits him and tells him to shut up, Stefan attempts to lecture Damon about being kind—again.

I sigh loudly.

"Are they at it again?" Someone asks, it's definitely a familiar voice.

I turn to see Peeta Mellark looking at me with a good-humored grin on his face. "Damon and Stefan? Yeah, they are."

Peeta's mother yells at him from inside the store; and Peeta is forced to leave me alone with Damon Salvatore.

They approach me in a quieter manner, as if I hadn't seen them arguing two seconds ago.

Elena is wearing a purple dress and shoes she can barely walk in. I don't even know where she got them, but Stefan is keeping her from falling.

"Hey Bon," Elena says, giving me a slight wave.

"Hey," I nod to Stefan and completely ignore Damon.

We don't have any time for small talk—thank God—because the five-minute announcement comes over the loudspeakers. If everybody isn't in their designated area by 12:30, the Peacekeepers will shoot at them, even the adults who have no reason to attend the reaping must be here.

"Let's go," Elena says, putting on her reasonable tone. "We don't want to be late!" she takes me by the hand and drags Stefan and I to the seventeens section.

I look over my shoulder, preparing to flip Damon off as punishment for the poorly-whispered "whore" comment, but I pause for a second. He actually looks pensive, as if he actually had brains inside of his empty head. It doesn't last long though, he gives me the finger in response.

Dumb ass.

**ѮѼѮ**

I hate the long seconds before the mayor comes on stage to read the history of Panem. It feels as if time has stopped, rather than ticking by at a normal pace. Everything feels so heavy and a lump forms in my throat. Endless What If's pass through my head and it's so hard to think.

Mayor Undersee takes his spot behind the podium.

"The country of Panem rose from the ashes of a place called North America. . ."

I close my eyes.

". . . as punishment for the Dark Days, we have the Hunger Games, a constant reminder of who has control. We must sacrifice one boy and one girl each year, they must go into the arena, where a deadly battle will ensue. . ."

I hear Elena sigh, we grew up listening to this speech.

"Only one may emerge from the Games alive." He finishes in a grave tone.

He then names the only living victor of 12.

Haymitch Abernathy.

District 12's resident drunkard.

Effie Trinket waltzes onstage. She is our escort, the woman in charge of selecting District 12 human sacrifices. She has pink hair and bejeweled eyebrows. Her voice is also highly affected, not a huge surprise, she resides in the Capitol after all.

"Hello District 12!" she begins, and no one even bothers to clap. "May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

They weren't in my favor, that's for sure.

Her hand plunges into the glass ball labeled "Female". "Our female tribute is. . . Elena Gilbert!"

I hear Elena gasp.

I hear Stefan cry out—a horrible noise.

Her grip on my hand tightens before she lets go of me and walks up to the stage.

Fear explodes in my gut, I can't watch her die, I can't let her do this.

I have to do something.

For a moment, I can't. I'm paralyzed.

Effie asks the ill-fated question: "Any volunteers?"

I put my hand in the air.

* * *

><p><strong>Part lV<strong>

**The Male Tribute**

**Damon Salvatore: Reaped**

* * *

><p>"Me!" A voice calls out, "I volunteer!"<p>

She jumps over the rope that keeps us all fenced in. I'm pleasantly shocked, Elena won't have to go into the Hunger Games, she will be safe.

For a fraction of a second, I actually like Bonnie Bennett.

Imagine that.

I look over at Stefan, he has nearly collapsed with relief.

"And what's your name, sweetie?" Effie asks.

"_Bonnie_." she responds pointedly. "Bennett."

"Alright then, Miss Bennett. Let's get the male tribute up here!"

She repeats the selection process. "Damon Salvatore fu—" she pauses, re-reading the slip. "Damon Salvatore, I mean."

Fuck. My. Life.


	3. A Victim's Goodbye

**Disclaimer: I do not own any copyrighted material!**

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><p><em>House full of roses<br>A letter on the stairs  
>A tape full of messages<br>for anyone who cares  
>Collage of broken words<br>and stories full of tears  
>Remembering your life<br>'cause we wish that you were here  
>Nothing is harder<br>than to wake up all alone  
>Realize it's not okay<br>it's the end of all you've known_

_~Avenged Sevenfold, Victim~_

* * *

><p><strong>Part l<strong>

**Adversaries**

**Damon Salvatore**

* * *

><p>I glance at Stefan, the color has completely drained from his face.<p>

He looks like a ghost: pale, sick, and harmless despite the fact that he should be showing an emotion other than shock.

What do_ I_ look like?

I'm guessing angry, because I feel enraged. My blood is boiling beneath my skin, I also feel like hitting something. That smirk on Effie Trinket's alien-face will do. I smile to myself, imagining how my idea will work. First, I'd walk onto the stage like I owned it, then I would flip Bennett off a second time, and finally I would walk up to that bitch and. . .

"Damon Salvatore?" Effie's questioning voice breaks into my daydreams.

I find it easy to ignore her.

I also notice several things all at once: Bonnie tries to hide her smug look behind her hand, (clearly, she thought I was the moron in this situation) the mayor pulls at his collar, Elena's expression is one of unabashed horror—like she is having a never-ending nightmare, and my father shows no emotion whatsoever, the asshole.

"_Damon Salvatore!" _

Something heavy pokes me in the back.

"Get the fuck—" I stop short when the handle of a small hand gun smacks into the back of my head.

A Peacekeeper is staring at me with disdain. He gives me the evil-eye before wordlessly pointing to the stage.

Oh. Right.

I just got reaped.

I climb over the rope and head for the podium. I also glare at whoever makes eye contact with me—you know, the people who give you looks of pity, the ones that every tribute gets because this will probably be the last time they see you alive—I don't need their sympathy, I'm not going to die. The other twenty three fuckers are. It's a simple fact.

Effie descends on me like a vulture the moment I'm within her range.

"Damon, nice of you to finally join us!" She looks mad. "What took you so long?"

"I was momentarily blinded by the color of your wig." I answer snidely, hiding a laugh when she huffs an indecipherable response.

No one else seems to find our exchange as amusing as I do—a pity, really.

She returns her attention to the crowd, flashing them a jeweled smile. She reminds me of a pod-person or a rapist, even. She is just _that_ creepy. "District 12, I give you your tributes, Bonnie Bennett and Damon Salvatore!"

There are a few claps here and there, nothing much to be said for an arrogant asshole and a girl who volunteered to die, I guess.

What a fucking shame.

I share a look with Bonnie, she seems utterly pleased that we didn't get a round of applause. Maybe—for her, at least—it signifies that District 12 doesn't justify this, but I see it as bullshit. No support from my own district equals no sponsors. And no sponsors means that I'll have a hard time getting help in the arena, which means that I'm completely screwed.

Effie puts her hands together and speaks in a fake voice. "Come on you two! Shake hands!"

She then proceeds to push us together, my shoulder smacks into Bonnie's neck and she mutters "asshole!" under her breath.

"Bitch." I whisper back, taking her hand in mine.

For a moment all I can register is that swift, ever-so-fleeting sensation of being electrocuted, and then I see her face: a frown that looked like it would never go away and green eyes that were drenched in turmoil. She is sad, mad, hurt, upset, distraught, determined. I feel the same way, unfortunately.

My mouth turns into a grimace. God, Bennett and I feel exactly the same. Gross.

I cover my thoughts up with a smirk, no need for her to think I'm vulnerable, and mouth the worst thing I could possibly say to her:

_You're dead._

She replies by gripping my hand in a way that cuts off the circulation to my wrists.

_We'll see about that, Salvatore._

* * *

><p><strong>Part ll<strong>

**Alone**

**Bonnie Bennett**

**(Elena's Visit)**

* * *

><p>We are left alone on the stage, Effie disappears just as the crowd begins to disperse, Haymitch is far too drunk to be considered a companion, and Mayor Undersee offers us each a "good luck" before following Effie behind the stage's curtain.<p>

I'm really alone with Damon, now.

Great.

We don't say anything, though. He is far too busy rubbing his wrist to shoot Death Stares at me.

I watch as the crowd disperses, children first and then the adults. A few of them give us looks that make me believe that they are sorry that we are going to die, but then I see the relief in their eyes. They are mostly happy that it's us and not them, they have another year to live before they get put on the chopping block again.

It's every man for themselves, how disgustingly appropriate at a time like this.

After a couple of minutes Effie emerges from backstage, her hair perfectly coiffed and not a single pink strand out of place.

"Alright guys, are you ready?"

I don't answer her, I don't think I can. Because, no, no I'm not ready. I do not want to go anywhere, I can't even bear to leave the stage. The first step into the inevitable. Of course, I'd rather be at home with Dad, eating whatever we can find in the cupboards. Maybe I could even find a dime or two and we could go eat at the Hob. I realize that my thoughts have begun making plans I can never carry out, and stop immediately. I am going to die (mostly likely, probably) and I have to be strong—like always.

For Dad.

For myself.

Tears burn in my eyes and I wipe them away, hoping that nobody sees me.

Bonnie. Bennett. Does. Not. Cry.

She. Is. Strong.

"Nope, I like it here." Damon says belligerently.

"Too bad." Effie replies, glaring at him.

I roll my eyes, she takes us both by the hands and drags us into the Justice Building.

Both Damon and I have been here at least a thousand times before, signing up for tesserae and cursing the system. The tesserae sign-up area is to the left of the entrance, decorated with flickering lights and a long counter that has piles of paper on it. A poster with torn edges sticks to the plexi-glass window. It says: CLOSED. Come back on 4/6/37 for more information.

The instructions fill me with dread.

4/6/37 is exactly twenty three lifetimes away.

Before I can burrow further into my depression, Effie pulls me to the immediate right. We head down a long, poorly-lit hallway until we see a set of double doors. They are made from rusty steel and there is a scale with the numbers one through ten on it.

Effie presses a button and the doors open.

We step in and transcend onto a whole other level of Hell

**ѮѼѮ**

I'm put in a room that has one door and a small velvet couch.

It's dark and there are no windows in sight. Seeing no other option, I sit on the sofa. It's really very comfortable, though I don't feel any better than I did a second ago. If anything, my state worsens. This place is an awful lot like a prison—a cage filled with immoral people—or the Coal Mines—dark and soulless.

My throat feels like it's closing up.

I vaguely hear Effie say, "come on, Damon. We have a schedule to follow."

The door shuts leaving me completely alone.

I'm dimly aware of what will come next. Our final goodbyes. People we care about will come in for an hour to say their last farewells. Even lowly tributes get to spend time with their loved ones—how thoughtful of the Capitol to think that up.

A minute later, the door swings open.

I look up, hoping to see my father. I need to see him the most out of everyone, I need to tell him how much I loved him, I have to tell him to stay strong; because we all have to.

But Elena is there, leaning against the doorway the same way Dan leans on his cane. Her hair is out of it's ponytail and her eyes are puffy.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, coming over to sit by me.

I try to stifle the sob that threatens to escape my throat. Under no circumstances can she see me cry. Nobody—not even my father—has ever seen me cry, and I plan on keeping it that way. "I'm doing okay, I guess."

"Thank you!" Elena exclaims rather suddenly, she throws her arms around my neck and lets out a half-sob half-grunt that translates into her gratefulness.

"No problem, Lena." I tell her, patting her back awkwardly. "You would have done the same thing for me, right?"

She looks at me, her expression slightly remorseful. "Right." she agrees shakily.

I'm guessing that she's lying, but I don't feel like getting into it now.

"I have something for you," she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a necklace.

It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The chain is a simple piece of thick blue leather, and it's adorned with a complicated pendant, it's marked with an 'E' and the jewel is a pretty cerulean color surrounded by silver.

"You can have one token, and I was hoping that you would use this."

"It's so pretty," I breathe. "Are you sure?"

"Yup."

"I'm sure Dad's worried about finding me something." I say wistfully, "I'll have to tell him you got me something already."

"Bonnie, I have something to tell you. . ." Elena begins.

I try to avoid making eye contact with her. That voice is too ominous. . . too familiar.

"Bon, h-he's not coming, I'm so sorry."

_No. _"I don't get to say goodbye." It comes out sounding like a question.

"I don't know what to tell you, Bon." her voice is now a whisper, fading slowly into nothing.

I will never see my father again.

_Remembering your life  
>'cause we wish that you were here<br>Nothing is harder  
>than to wake up all alone<em>

My last memory of him will be pill-ridden.

The last thing he will ever say to me is: _"Time to get ready for the reaping."_

I don't even get a proper send-off and he will end up more alone than I could ever imagine.

* * *

><p><strong>Part lll<strong>

**Hated**

**Damon Salvatore**

**(Stefan and Dad's Visit.)**

* * *

><p>My room is already inhabited by the time I get there.<p>

That's my fault I guess, I wasted time by telling Effie where she should stick her schedule.

_Collage of broken words  
>and stories full of tears<em>

My father is sitting on the couch, hands folded in his lap. Stefan is standing around looking stupid. (Not much of a surprise there.) I'm kind of pissed off, I wanted to sit there, but I can't now. There is no way in the fiery depths of Hell that I would even go near him with a ten-foot pole. We're talking about the man who questioned my sexuality when I cried, this was the man who didn't comfort me when I had dreams of Mom coming back from the dead. He never said those things to Stefan, and he played with dolls for a good portion of his childhood (He was doing it to impress Elena, my ass.)

"Damon," he says with a nod.

"Asshole," I say in a similar tone.

I see Stefan cough and look away.

Dad glares at me. "Don't talk to me like that!"

"What makes you think you can tell me what to do?"

He avoids my question and counters with one of his own. "Why can't you be more like Stefan?"

"Because Stefan has the same chance of getting laid as Haymitch!" I yell, not caring that I probably hurt Steffy's feelings.

"You need to learn some respect!"

Story of my fucking life.

"You need to get that pole out of you ass!"

My father's face turns at least ten shades of red. "Come on, Stefan. We are leaving."

He exits the room without checking to see if Stefan is following him.

"Here." my brother holds out his hand. In it is a ring with a stone set in lapis lazuli blue. A 'D" is carved in the center. "For good luck."

I need all of the luck I can get, I guess.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going to be away on vacation for awhile, so this will be my last udate for a week. Okay, a few other things: one, I'm going to put up a link for Bonnie's tokenreaping outfit as well as the arena outfit and Elena's reaping dress. And. . . please R&R!**


	4. Rosenrot

**Disclaimer: TVD is not mine, nor do I own THG, the lyrics are courtesy of one of my favorite bands, Rammstein. The English translation is from , and is done by the guy who created the website. Thanks dude!**

**So this chapter is a bit more past-oriented, and it was a little harder to write, but it will be important for chapters to come. Damon no POV in this chapter, and I'm definitely going to focus on him more next chapter.**

* * *

><p><em>Sah ein Mädchen ein Röslein stehen<br>**(A girl saw a little rose. . .)**  
>Blühte dort in lichten Höhen<br>**(It bloomed there in bright heights.)**  
>Sprach sie ihren Liebsten an<br>**(She asked her sweetheart. . .)**  
>ob er es ihr steigen kann<br>**( if he could fetch it for her.)**  
><em>

_Sie will es und so ist es fein  
><strong>(She wants it and that's fine)<strong>  
>So war es und so wird es immer sein<br>**(So it was and so it will always be)**  
>Sie will es und so ist es Brauch<br>**(She wants it and that's the custom)**  
>Was sie will bekommt sie auch<br>**(Whatever she wants, she gets)**_

_Tiefe Brunnen muss man graben  
><strong>(Deep waters must be dug. . .)<strong>  
>wenn man klares Wasser will<br>**(If you want clear water.)**  
>Rosenrot oh Rosenrot<br>**(Rose-red, oh, rose-red.)**  
>Tiefe Wasser sind nicht still<br>**(Deep waters don't run still. . .)**_

_~Rammstein, Rosenrot~_

* * *

><p><strong>Part l<strong>

**The Great Haymitch Abernathy **

**Bonnie Bennett**

* * *

><p>"Bonnie. . . Bon. . . snap out of it!"<p>

I blink, but I can't think of anything worthwhile to say. What's left anyway? Nothing. After this hour is over, I will be sent to my death. I don't even have a goodbye from my father, and I will never ever get one. I will never get to see him smile at me again, I will never get to see the look on his face when I come home with good news (not that I had much of it to begin with. . .) again. He won't have me around to dole out his pills morning after morning after morning.

Damn it!

I hadn't considered that before I got myself into this mess.

Elena's voice, though still audible, is crazy-difficult to hear. It sounds like she is speaking underwater. . . but maybe I'm the one who is underwater. It feels as if I'm being battered by waves and my throat is closing up. Also, my lungs have been replaced by steel blocks—they can't take in any oxygen. I push past all of that, forcing myself to listen and talk. I have to make sure Dad is taken care of.

"Come on, Bon." She sounds worried now, it probably looks like I've gone catatonic.

"I'm still here, Lena."

She gives me a wary smile. "Good."

Yeah, great.

"Listen, Elena. . ." I begin, unsure of how to ask her for something this big. I'm the one that is more assertive, but never with her. I take care of her, too. Despite her minor rebellious actions—which were few and far in between. "I need you to do me a major favor."

"Anything you need," she says, and she is being sincere.

"My dad. . . he needs to stay on top of the dosage for his pills. Mrs. Everdeen only has a few more of them on stock. . ."

"Okay." Elena declares with absolute determination. "You got it!"

I'm now painfully aware of the clock ticking away on the wall.

I glance at it—crap!—we only have a minute left!

"Alright, he only needs one—don't let him convince you otherwise. He's a good actor. Oh, and he can only take them at—" I'm interrupted by a loud _ding!_

The wooden door opens immediately after that, revealing two men in white Peacekeeper uniforms. They look like ghosts, phantoms that are here to take absolutely everything away from me.

Which is exactly what they do.

"Time's up," Peacekeeper Number One says. His voice is rough, like sandpaper or gravel. It's kind of scary, not that I let on to that fact.

I keep my face blank. Emotionless.

"_Miss,"_ Peacekeeper Number Two intones, and he is far more menacing than his companion. The glare he gives Elena is lethal.

I look at him defiantly and he says nothing else about our time being up, though he does make a movement to retrieve his gun from its holster.

He won't shoot at her; I see the pity in his eyes. Number One's expression mirrors his as well. Pity is standard on Reaping Day, there is always plenty of it to spare.

Elena makes no move to leave the cramped room, instead she asks: "Anything else?"

"Yeah," I manage. I realize that I have so much more to say to my best friend. That one hour they give us tributes is shit. I also know that I can't tell her everything, not even if the Capitol gave us years to leave all that we know behind. I decide to give her the one piece of advice everybody needs to hear."Stay strong—promise me that."

"Promise."

"_How touching," _a familiar voice says, and it doesn't belong to the two Casper's—that's for sure.

Damon.

He is standing next to an irate Effie, who's skin has turned pink—almost like her stupid wig.

"What the fuck do you want?" I ask him, glowering as he smiled. It's his typical shit-eating grin. The one that gets under my skin every single time he uses it.

His eyes find Elena, they wander over her body appreciatively. God, he is such a chauvinistic bastard. "As of right now, I want you to get your perky ass off of the sofa so we can leave this Hell hole."

I remain seated, my fingers curl around the arms of the couch. No way am I leaving, not on _his_ terms.

"We are on a _schedule_, Trelix." Effie reminds Peacekeeper Two—Trelix—with a huff. "If we were in the Capitol, with Capitol Peacekeepers, surely we would be on time. District 12 is always so unorganized. Lana should have left here—"

"I'm up!" I say. If there's one thing I dislike already about Effie Trinket, it's her grating need for perfection and/or punctuality.

"Me too!" Elena agrees hastily.

As if to restore his non-Capitol competence, Trelix marches over to my friend. He takes her by the arm, throws a disapproving look at me, and removes Elena from the room. She struggles to keep up with the Peacekeepers' unnaturally fast pace and ends up tripping in those shoes she should have never worn.

Her eyes meet mine. She's fighting tears of her own. _"Bye."_ she mouths silently.

I give her a broken wave.

_Bye._

**ѮѼѮ**

The Tribute Train is different from any other locomotive that comes in or out of District 12. It's far more ornate than the coal trains that take our exports to all of products. It's also longer, presumably with more compartments than the two that are standard in our normal trains. The train I am stepping into now is not fueled by coal, it's a bullet train. Meaning it runs solely on electricity. Inside, it looks like a much nicer version of my home. It has a kitchen with chrome appliances; a stove, refrigerator (it just about reaches the ceiling in terms of height), and a dishwasher. I had to wash our plates and silverware by hand at home. There is a living room-type area to the left of me, complete with a large TV and couch.

Effie leads us down a narrow corridor, there are several doorways decorating the walls. She taps on the one at the right.

A long string of curse words filters out into the hallway."."

Haymitch is drunk.

"We'll talk to him later," Effie says in an exasperated tone.

Before Damon could make some smart-ass comment, Effie points to two other doors. They're made of some kind of dark wood and stand right next to each other.

"That's your room, Damon." She points to the door on the left and goes over to turn the knob.

It's much bigger than it looks. A closet and dresser are both present in the room, along with a brand-new mattress, comfy pillows, and a matching comforter set.

He enters the room and flops down on the bed without taking his shoes off. The blankets are now stained with that black dust.

Our Escort cringes. "I understand that you two come from 12, but could you _please_ attempt to act like you belong in society."

Damon scowls at her.

My hands ball into fist at my sides.

"And dinner is at six 'o clock sharp, dress accordingly, we will be using forks and knives."

"We get to use knives?" Damon asks with false-eagerness. "Wow, Dad will be so surprised! He _never_ let me use them at home!"

"I can't say I'm surprised."

I hide a smile as she storms away.

**ѮѼѮ**

(Twelve 'o clock, Midnight)

**ѮѼѮ**

Despite the softness of my mattress, I cannot drift off to sleep.

It's too _wrong_ here.

I feel like I'm in a cage, though I know that will get once when we arrive in the Capitol. The citizens will finally get to see their twenty four new toys. And then things will just go downhill from there.

Sighing, I get up and leave my makeshift bedroom.

The kitchen is empty, the cooks have long since gone to bed and Damon is snoring peacefully amongst his mountain of pillows. That's right—Damon Salvatore snores. He is also more arrogant than I first thought. He kept sending for the Avoxes—people who are punished by the Capitol in the form of tongue-mutilation—to bring him snacks, before he went to sleep. How he can sleep after that disaster of a dinner, I have no clue. . .

Haymitch (who was very hungover at the time) had asked us what we were capable of.

Damon had answered for me, saying that I was very good at nagging, and therefore would be able to do so to some poor bastard in the arena.

I responded by saying that Damon didn't have a chance in the arena, he was such a sexist pig that he would easily get beaten to death.

He had said: "Thanks Judgy, I _am_ sexy."

Damon isn't stupid, I know that much, because his eyes flashed angrily and he flung a piece of cranberry sauce in my face. I had retaliated by throwing my bitter-tasting coffee in his face. He still had the burn mark on his cheek to prove it. And it's not like I didn't know it was hot, I _planned _on scalding him. It was _supposed_ to hurt him.

I'm still a bit shocked with myself. Sure, I certainly don't care about rules or about breaking them, but I am not a violent person. I care about people, about life in general.

I walk over to the fridge and take a bottle from Haymitch's not-so-secret-secret-stash.

I had only hurt a living creature once, and I am still haunted by it. . .

**ѮѼѮ**

_It was a typical day in District 12, the sky was cloudy and everyone was just getting back to their daily routines._

_It was a day after the Reaping, and I had survived. Too bad I had six more to go. . . it had only be my first one. Elena spent the entire hour squeezing my hand into a pulp and Stefan was freaked out over the horror stories Damon had told him._

_I was walking home with Elena—like always—and we were passing the fence. Suddenly, she clutched my arm and stopped walking._

"_What?" I asked._

"_Did you see that?" She pointed to the open gap in the chain link. "I think I saw that guy go under there!"_

_We had all heard about Gale Hawthorne at one point or another, we even saw him bring in his game at the Hob. Nobody really questioned it, if he was resourceful enough to find food beyond the boundaries of 12, then who were we to stop him. I even caught him at the back door of Mayor Undersee's house giving strawberries to his daughter, Madge._

"_Gale?" I asked, raising an eyebrow._

"_Yeah," she said._

_I kind of respected the guy, I liked how he didn't stop with tesserae, he still did everything he could to feed himself._

_Elena glared at where he went into the Meadow. "I can't believe he kills animals like that." She had a rabbit named Thumper, whom she was super-protective of._

_I wasn't in the mood to talk about animal rights today, nor much of anything else. "He needs to, Lena."_

"_It's against the rules to go out of—" she looked at me._

_I had just positioned my body in front of the person-sized hole Gale made._

"_What are you doing?"_

_I looked out into the open field, spotting a blood-red flower in the distance. "Getting that tulip." I could have said, "Proving a point." but that sounded a little too mean._

_My mother had picture books filled with them, she could spend hours upon hours looking at the petals._

"_**Bonnie!"**_

"_I'll be back in a sec, I promise."_

_I lied._

_Instead, I ventured a little farther into the woods, picking up a pointed rock. I assumed that Elena wouldn't follow me, as her Aunt Jenna always told her she would get electrocuted if she ever dared to touch it. I also assumed Gale needed extra protection out here—my teacher, Mr. Saltzman—told us that rabid animals lived in the woods._

_I didn't know what got into me; I just felt like I needed to do this._

_I spotted a bunny not far away from a group of trees. Steadying my aim, I threw the rock at it. There was a** thud! **And an exclamation of "Shit!"_

_Gale emerged from a group of bushes and examined my kill._

_Then it hit me._

_I actually **murdered** something._

_I was a horrible person._

_Then he saw me._

_At first, he looked upset, but then he quietly approached me—he was even carrying the rabbit._

"_Nice shot." He said begrudgingly, he still looked pissed off._

_I grimaced. Said nothing._

"_Here." Gale handed the dead bunny to me and left not two seconds later to check his snares._

_Before I left the area, my entire body heavy with grief, I grabbed a handful of flowers to give to Mom._

_Elena wouldn't speak to me for a week after she saw the carcass._

_Two weeks later, Mom got sick._

**ѮѼѮ**

Since then, Gale has a new hunting companion.

Katniss Everdeen.

And I have stopped eating animals, much to Dad's chagrin, I'm a vegetarian.

"Can I have some?"

I look up to see Damon staring at me, his burn prominent.

"Sure."


	5. Off With Your Head

**Disclaimer: The copyright prevents me from owning this stuff.**

* * *

><p><em>"I been silent so long now it's gonna roar out of me like flood waters and you think the guy telling this is ranting and raving my God; you think this is too horrible to have really happened, this is too awful to be the truth! But, please. It's still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it. But it's the truth even if it didn't happen." <em>

_~Ken Kesey~_

* * *

><p><strong>Part ll<strong>

**Broken Hearts**

**Damon Salvatore**

* * *

><p>"Thanks." I mutter, taking the bottle from her before she even gets the chance to hand it to me.<p>

I sit down at the other side of the table and take a huge swig of the clear liquid. It tastes sour, and it burns my throat. This stuff is definitely stronger than Dad's poison. That's good. I don't look at Bonnie as I proceed to down half of what's left in the bottle, my eyes start to sting and I nearly drown in the alcohol, but it's more than worth it—we're on our way to the fucking Capitol, after all.

Translation: I want to be as drunk as humanly possible.

"Don't take it all," Bonnie says, and her tone is nothing short of pissed off. "You're already going to make us the laughingstocks of Panem, you don't need to be drunk to do it."

"Yeah, well under-age drinking is _wrong_ Judgy. And you don't want to break the rules, do you?"

She glowers at me, arms folded across her chest._ "What did you just call me?"_

"Ju-dgee." I say slowly, slurring the word.

She casts a cursory glance around the train's kitchen, eyes landing on the napkin dispenser resting on the table. It's made of silver, so it glints wildly as it spirals in the direction of my face. I duck, the projectile missing me by a centimeter.

I sit up, my fingers brushing against the burn on my cheek. "You bitch!"

"Say that again." She challenges me. "I _dare_ you."

"_Bitch."_

Bonnie stands up, her fingers clutching the edge of the table. And, at first, I think she's going to throw the entire thing at me, but. . . but she doesn't. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and looks at me. Just _looks_ at me. That;s it. I cover my head for a second or two—nothing is hurdling at me, though, so I feel stupid. Stupid and awkward because it's like she's dissecting me or something. And, sure, I am incredibly sexy, but this borders on creepy.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"I would, but I don't want my camera to break," she says, her green eyes narrowing even more.

"You can't even _afford_ a camera, Bennett." I sneer. It's clear that she knows my words are a jab at her dad and his inability to do things. (Not that my dad is any better, even though he is fully capable of normal activity.)

She takes a step forward, and I take one back. The kitchen seems unbelievably tense now, and the darkness feels like pressure, the appliances are ghosts. I can't see a thing and I end up crashing into a counter and the corner stabs me in the side. She walks over to me and jabs a finger at my chest. "Well, don't worry about _that_, Damon. I'll have one soon enough, victors can buy whatever they want, you know."

Her tone is like ice. I feel cold, as if my veins have frozen over, my blood feels thick, like it has turned to slush. I don't like this, it's nerve-wracking. This conversation is making me feel a thousand emotions at once. Anger. (Who does she think she _is_?_ Nobody_ talks to me that way). Fear. (She looks like she is about to murder me in cold blood. _Move away slowly. . ._). And something else. . . I can't put my finger on it, but whatever _it_ is, it's not good.

So I ignore it.

Plain and simple.

"You can't buy anything if your dead, stupid head."

"Stupid head? Really? What are you, ten?"

"Maybe." I tell her childishly.

"Go fuck yourself." Bonnie turns on her heels and stalks back to her room.

She always has to have the last word.

**ѮѼѮ**

(3 'o clock,Wednesday morning)

**ѮѼѮ**

My brain is muddled—hazy.

Thoughts are cloaked in thick veils of nothingness. I can't understand a single thing that pops into my head. My ideas are the beginning of something coherent, and then. . . it's just _gone_. And I have absolutely nothing to go on. I have enough sense left in me to know that Elena must be The Thought, but I'm far too drunk to actually know what about Elena I'm thinking of. It's like I have part of myself, but I'm not fully _me_. I am only a little alive and mostly dead, if that makes any sense, but it probably doesn't. Everything is weird though, so this craziness isn't too big a leap for me to make. I mean, the room is practically spinning. The fridge is turning in a circle, and the oven is upside down. I'm in Nowhere/Everywhere Land.

I put my head on the table.

Suddenly, I'm very heavy. My head weighs a ton—it's a boulder on my neck attached to my. . . whatever my neck is connected to. I don't really know or care anymore. I just want to feel better.

Whatever.

My eyelids are drifting closed, and I try to lift them open again at least ten times—around attempt number elev-twelve, (is that even a number?) I give up.

What's the use?

I stop fighting it.

I close my eyes and find only darkness.

**ѮѼѮ**

_I'm floating._

_At least, I **think** I'm floating._

_But maybe not._

_I can't be hovering in the air if I see myself walking past the fence of District 12 with Stefan._

_We look different, though. His hair is longer, and he is thinner and much shorter than he was the last time I saw him. Come to think of it, I am shorter too—so is my hair—and I look a lot nicer, like a good big brother should. I'm smiling at little Steffy and offering him my hand, like I did when we were five and six and he would get scared of climbing the pile of coal on the outskirts of the Seam._

_And then I know._

_I'm about to meet Elena and Bonnie for the first time._

_Stefan is going to trip and fall at Elena Gilbert's feet. And then the inevitable will happen. . . he will look at her and they will fall in love. The perfect fairytale, and they will live Happily Ever After. The End. I can't wait for the screen to fade to black—even though I know it won't. This nightmare needs to be over. **Now**. Because I don't need to re-live this, I don't need to hurt anymore._

_Sure enough, Stefan falls over a stray lump of coal and lands at Elena's feet, I rush over to him and pull him to his feet._

_She giggles and looks away. . . a typical schoolyard crush, I guess._

"_Thanks Damon." Stefan says, though it sounds like "fanks" because he is missing his front two teeth. The cute little bugger._

"_No problem."_

_And I get my first look at my brother's one true love._

_Her hair is longer than it is now, and she is carrying a bag of some sort of meat product. I can see the confusion on my face—my dad usually got meat from the Hob and you had to be way older to go into that place alone._

_My eyes widen. "You got that all by yourself?" _

"_Yup!" The brown-haired girl answers proudly, a smile lighting up her face._

_The second girl (I don't even see her until she makes herself known) rolls her eyes. They're the exact same shade of green as they are today. And they are (kind of) pretty—not that I would **ever** tell Bennett that._

"_She got that from Aunt Jenna's store." The girl thinks this over, and adds as an afterthought, "I was with her, too."_

"_Oh." Stefan says, because we both think that going to a store is less brave than going to the Hob, but this girl is clearly pretty in our eyes, so it's okay._

"_Come **on**, Elena." The five year-old Bonnie tugs at her friends sleeve. "We have to go, my dad bought some dough from Peeta's house. Mommy is gonna teach us how to make cookies—the kind with chocolate chips."_

_I take note of the happy glint in her eyes; Bonnie obviously loves her mother more than anything._

"_Okay, okay." Elena takes Bonnie's hand and waves goodbye to Stefan—and only Stefan._

**ѮѼѮ**

(10 'o clock, Wednesday morning)

**ѮѼѮ**

A firm hand punches my shoulder.

I'm startled.

"Huh." I say, jumping in my seat.

There is a muffin on the table, and a glass of orange juice right next to it. Funny, I don't remember it being there earlier. . .

"Bonnie left that for you," a perky voice tells me. "She wouldn't let Haymitch touch it."

_Yeah, probably because she laced it with poison._

"Damon, I've told you a thousand times, we are on a _schedule_!" Effie taps the bright purple watch she is wearing. "Today we get to watch the recap of the reapings, isn't that exciting?"

"No."

She yanks my off of the chair and pushes me into the living room. I'm forced onto the cushion directly between Bonnie and Haymitch. Effie gets her own seat on the recliner located to the left of the TV. I realize that Bonnie smells like flowers and Haymitch smells like vomit and beer, I probably smell almost exactly the same—minus the puke.

Effie presses PLAY and the television comes to life.

A hyper-active man with blue hair is District 1's escort. He gets the crowd riled up and soon everybody can't wait. Getting sent to your death is something to be proud of, I guess.

He announces the female tribute: Caroline Forbes.

A hot-looking blonde girl emerges from the seventeen section. She prances up to the stage and smiles at the citizens of District 1, she also assures them that she will be the victor. _Duh_. Her words, not mine—like I'd be caught dead saying duh. I'd get my ass kicked all the way to the Capitol.

Matt Donovan is the male tribute. He is a man of few words, and says nothing as he exits the same section as Barbie did.

District 2 is a little better—the escort isn't as creepy.

The woman pulls a slip from the silver reaping ball and Effie frowns distaste.

"Her nails are _leopard_-print, my sister should know that it's _zebra_-print that's in."

"Off with her head!" I announce theatrically, wanting to laugh at the fact that Effie is just mad because her sister got the "better District". That, and Trella Trinket is ten times hotter than Effie and her cotton-candy hair.

Effie glares at me. "That's impolite, Damon."

"Whatever." I say, rolling my eyes in a very Bonnie-like manner. "Your the one who thinks her nails are a crime against fashion, not me." I pause for a moment. "Actually, you both look pretty damn—"

"Shut up!" Haymitch snaps, "watch your competition, Damien!"

"It's Damon—"

"I don't give a shit!"

Bonnie gasps and my eyes are immediately glued to the screen. I've noticed a few things about Bennett over the eleven or so years I've known her. (I blame Elena. . . and Stefan. They want us to get along, that h_as_ to be why I know these things about her.). One of them is that she is never _ever_ surprised, so this guy must be brutal. Though with a name like Klaus I can't see how that's possible.

I mean, on names alone, even Stefan could kick ass—and Stefan is a fucking pansy.

I change my mind about that the second the camera zooms in on his face.

That guy, like most assholes, looks like he thinks his entitled to every-fucking-thing he sets his eyes on. But that's not what's so annoying about the male tribute. No, he knows how easy it would be to kill every other person in the arena—and even then, it's more than that. He wants it to be _enjoyable_. I get the feeling that he'd murder just for the hell of it—if he wouldn't get his head chopped off by the stricter, rules-crazy District 2 Peacekeepers, that is.

District's 3-8 are boring, not worth remembering at all.

But then District 9's male tribute is called forward. Tyler Lockwood, the mayor's cannibalistic eighteen year-old son. He, like Klaus, looks like he wants to eat you alive.

I'm screwed.

I don't watch the rest of the reapings—not even mine. Because now this is all real, and for the first time I'm actually scared that I won't come out of that arena alive.


End file.
